Points in Time
by avengerteam
Summary: A series of one-shots documenting the lives of Doctor Emmett Brown and Marty McFly. Beginning before the first film, watching Doc and Marty meet, Marty grows up, and both expand their horizons through the years. No slash, Trilogy compliant. More characters to come!
1. Chapter 1

**Happy 2015, Back to the Future fans!**

Saturday, August 7, 1981

1:18 pm

Marty McFly was thirteen when he meet the infamous Doctor Emmett Brown. Dr Brown was sixty three when he almost literally ran into young Marty McFly.

It was a steamy saturday in early August, just before school started for the year. All the children were out playing in the streets and driveways and cafes of the little town, their parents out buying new clothing for them and arranging haircuts and picking up school supplies. The teachers were preparing to start another year, choosing new classroom calendars and extra pencils and detention slips.

Dr Brown usually tried to avoid going into town at this time of year - the streets were full, the stores were full, the diners and cafes were all full of people. Most of the adults seemed fairly ambivalent to his presence, but kept their children away. They had heard the rumors and told themselves they didn't believe them, but to many of them, the rumors remained lingering, like a thought that could never quite leave once it was heard. As for the children themselves... the young children were blatantly terrified, having heard stories from peers who had parents that blatantly mistrusted and hated the Doctor. The teenagers were cruel in their fear and youthful rebelliousness, and never missed chances to call insults, throw rubbish, or defile his home. So Dr Brown tried to avoid town as much as possible when the teenagers were around.

But right now he needed groceries and a few small parts from the hardware store, despite the overpopulation of the center of town.

He left the store as quickly as possible and climbed into the tan Packard, Einstein in the back. They drove back to the large garage where Dr Brown was living and working and unloaded the food and parts, Emmett carrying and Einstein running along and pushing his nose against the bags.

He scooped up the final bag in his lanky arms, calling for Einstein and going in to put the groceries away. After, he rushed back to his oldest project, which was currently very tedious - scraping a coat of black paint of of a DeLorean so he could have only the stainless steel. But where was the rod he needed to fix Einstein's breakfast machine? He must have left it in the car...

Thirteen year old Marty McFly was skateboarding down the road when his skateboard hit something and sent him flying. The brown-haired teen moaned and picked himself up off the pavement, looking around for his longboard and the source of the accident; a small piece of metal rod. Marty turned it over in his hand, then looked around. The house - garage really - immediately to his left had a large van in the driveway: Dr E. Brown Enterprises, 24 hr. Scientific Services.

Dr Brown's house! Marty would have bet a million dollars that the rod belonged to the Doctor. His parents didn't ever talk about Dr Brown, but Marty guessed that they shared a least some of the fears that other parents had about the older man. Marty had grown up on a steady stream of rumors and tall tales of Dr Brown's crazy experiments and dangerous ways from the other kids.

Marty hesitated, then scooped up his skateboard in the rod-free hand and walked up the driveway. If the Doctor wasn't crazy, then at least he'd know and if the Doctor was then Marty would have a great story to tell. He walked up to the garage's side door... only to be knocked over by the long-haired scientist flying out to find his missing part.

Doctor Brown stopped short. The door to the driveway had met a marked resistance and now there was a groggy-looking young teenager lying in the drive. His heart nearly stopped - the last thing he needed was another reason to be hated, and now he had gone and assaulted someone; a young someone at that. He rushed over and knelt by the short teenager. By the looks of him, he couldn't be older than thirteen or fourteen. "Great Scott! Are you alright?" He offered a hand, which, to his mild surprise, the teen took and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"Sorry about that," Dr Brown rambled on. "I was coming out to look for a part for an invention that I may have left in the Packard and I didn't think anyone would be outside the door. Most people..."

The kid cut him off. "It's fine, I was actually coming to see if this was yours. It must've rolled into the street and I got tripped on my board," he said, holding up the metal rod.

"Precisely the piece I was looking for!" Dr Brown snatched it and held it up triumphantly, then looked at the teenager again. "You say you fell over it? Any injuries?"

The teenager shook his head. Marty hesitated. "Look, I know it seems rude, but can I come in and see what its for?"

It was Dr Brown's turn to hesitate. "Some of the experiments are rather delicate..."

"All right," Marty nodded acceptance, but looked crestfallen at being denied entrance.

"But I suppose if you don't touch anything that looks breakable, we will be fine." Dr Brown turned towards the door, the swung back around to the teen, who looked startled at receiving permission and at Dr Browns sudden movement. "It seems we haven't been introduced. I am Doctor Emmett Brown, scientist and inventor, and also local nutcase and lunatic. And you?"

Marty looked at him, surprised at the grin on the scientist's face that said he was all too aware of what rumors Marty would have heard about him.

"Marty McFly." He held out a hand and the Doctor took it.

"Nice to meet you, Mr McFly." Dr Brown opened the door again and ushered Marty into the workshop.

"Wow."

"I take it from your monosyllabic utterance that you are impressed?"

"Impressed? Dr Brown, this is fantastic!" Marty's face was full of awe at the projects before him. The mind reading headset lay discarded in a corner,a pile of beakers and test tubes took up a counter, the Packard was off to the front in a neater section of the garage, one wall was covered in clocks and below it was a counter covered with a large machine that seemed to be trying to open a can of dog food. There was the DeLorean in the middle, half cleared of its paint and a cot and sofa could just be seen behind it, pushed up against the wall.

"Now this over here is what I needed the rod for, the balance of this whole section of the machine is off and it needs a counterbalance..." Within a few moments, the pair was happily embroiled in the machine, Doctor Brown explaining all of its parts with Marty asking questions.

Suddenly, all the clocks began to ring. "Oh no!" Marty exclaimed. "I was supposed to be home almost half an hour ago! My mom's gonna be freaking out."

"I can take you home, if you like Marty," Dr Brown offered.

"I can't ask you to do that, Dr Brown," Marty grabbed his skateboard off the floor.

"Nonsense! It will get you home faster and I can explain your absence to your parents."

"Are you sure?"

Dr Brown's answer was to grab the Packard keys off a hook on the wall and slide into the car.

As they pulled out of the driveway, Dr Brown asked "Marty, how would you like a job?"

Marty hesitated. "What kind of job?"

"Nothing strenuous. Odd chores at my house, taking care of Einstein if I'm ever away, lending an extra pair of hands for a project if I ever need a set. Of course, your homework will come first, and I would pay you ten dollars a week."

"Sounds great, Dr Brown! I'll have to clear it with my parents, though, and they'll probably say no, you know? Because..." Marty trailed off.

"Because I'm the town lunatic?" Dr Brown gave a wry smile. "I will present the proposition to your parents and we'll see if we can't get them to agree."

"Okay, Dr Brown." Marty couldn't believe that only an hour or so ago he had believed that the man beside him was crazy.

"And you won't need to call me Dr Brown, Marty. It sounds so formal! You can call me whatever you wish, within reason."

Marty nodded and they pulled up into the driveway. A woman came running out of the house, smelling like alcohol and cigarettes. "Marty! Where have you been! I was this close - _this close - _to calling the police..." She trailed off when she saw who her son was with.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am. I am Doctor Emmett Brown. I was wondering if you would object to my employment of your son." Marty's mother waved Marty away and he was only able to hear parts of the conversation: "... homework...light work, mostly...able to drive him home..."

Dr Brown finally shook hands with Mrs McFly, giving Marty a small wink. Marty ran back out as his mother went back into the house. "Did she say yes?" the thirteen year old blurted out.

"Of course, Marty! What did I tell you?" Dr Brown smiled. "See you Monday, then. At the garage... oh, three o'clock or so?"

Marty grinned. "You bet. See you there, Doc." He gave a wave and ran back into the house.

"Doc?" Dr Brown asked the air, then smiled and shook his head, getting back into the Packard. It seemed that that was his new name.

"It does have sort of a ring to it, doesn't it, Einstein?"

**HELLO! I recently rewatched BTTF for the first time in nearly six years. I remembered the plotline and the Delorean (of course) but this time I was really taken by the dynamics between characters, especially between Doc and Marty. This is going to be a series of a dozen or so one-shots beginning before the first movie and coming all the way through present day.**

**I will finish it by the end of 2015, the very year Doc and Marty go to the future.**

**I have several scenes (and potential scenes) already worked out, but if you have ideas, I would gladly take them!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Many, many thanks to Harry Potter Albus Dumbledore, who clearly feels the same way about these movies and characters as I do, and is kind enough to tell me about it. You are the best!**

Wednesday, October 13, 1981

4:03 pm

Marty was not a happy camper.

Doc knew it. Marty came flying into the driveway on his skateboard after school, backpack swinging and forehead creased into a face of consternation. He went past Doc without saying a word and headed into the garage. The scientist said nothing, only frowned internally and scraped some of the last slivers of paint off of the hood of the DeLorean.

It was nearly half an hour later when Marty came back outside, having eaten and played with Einstein, if the dog hair on his jacket was any indication. Marty crouched down next to Doc, his face backlit in the glowing early October sun. "What'cha working on, Doc?" His voice was one of false casualness.

_What a miracle, _thought Doc, _that even though it's only been a few months, I can tell what this boy is thinking._ "Just finishing the hood, Marty, same as the last few weeks."

"Are you going to tell me what the DeLorean is for at some point and why you need to take the paint off?"

"Eventually, Marty, eventually! If it works, it will be a great success! I would much rather have it be a surprise."

Doc stood, looking at the teenager. "And what, may I ask, is your difficulty today, Marty?" he asked, idly chipping a few flecks of paint off of the door.

For a moment, Doc thought Marty wasn't going to answer. Then he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a folded wad of paper. He handed it to Doc without looking at him. Doc unfolded the pages to find... a math test. A failed one, if the red all over it was anything to judge by. It looked like it was bleeding out. Doc flipped through the pages, only to find that the back pages were little better than the first.

"So?" Doc asked.

"So? So what?"

"So what are you going to do about it, Marty?"

"I don't know, Doc," Marty admitted. "Usually, I don't care how I do. And I usually do okay. But... if my grades drop, my band can't try out for the school band competition. And it'll be my fault."

Marty looked at the ground. Doc knew that he had to be discouraged. Marty was good at music, and while he was plenty talented in other areas, at least in Doc's book, not all of those areas translated easily into society-valued skills that would make good future jobs. Marty was smart; he knew that he couldn't do music forever and would have to have a job when music stopped being an option.

"Well," Doc said. "Let's go fix it."

He cuffed Marty on the shoulder and went into the house, finding a stack of paper and his favorite calculator. Doc set the test on the small table that he had put in a few weeks ago, realizing that they needed a better place for Marty to work if he was ever going to do any of his homework at Doc's house. And it had worked; Marty's grades had gone up, and until this test all had seemed well.

Marty came in after him and slumped in the chair.

"Let's look at this first one, Marty..." Doc trailed off as Marty put his face in his hands.

"Doc, I can't do this. Face it, I'm never going to be good enough at any of this to get a job that counts! I'm going to end up like my dad, taking orders from some jerk who makes me do his work because he's too lazy. I'm not smart enough for this stuff."

Marty felt miserable. He was going to fail at life. His band wouldn't be able to play and wouldn't make it big. He could see his entire future going down the drain with this one math test.

Doc put down the pencil and looked at his young friend. He reached out and put a hand on Marty's shoulder. "Marty. Look at me." The teenager did as he was instructed and Doc was mildly surprised to see the cloudy sadness in his eyes. Doc got out of his chair and walked around the table, kneeling down next to Marty's chair and putting himself directly in Marty's wavering line of sight.

"Marty, I am sixty three years old. I have spent years of my life, _years, _Marty, working on things that have failed. Most of my inventions and ideas and experiments have never yielded more than piles of paper and scrap metal. But Marty, I never gave up. And I know that someday, someday soon, I will make something great. And so will you. Because the way I see it, when you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything."

Marty gave a little nod and pulled the test towards him, along with a sheet of paper.

"Okay Doc." He took a deep breath and let it out, settling himself. "Let's do it."

**I suppose I should explain my take on the time sequence. Everything revolves around Marty's timeline. I think that until Marty goes back to 1955 for the first time, Doc, Marty's family, Biff, and Marty himself live as if he never went back. That means wimpy parents, Doc didn't know anything about Marty when they met. Doc will find Marty's letter, but he doesn't remember getting the letter, or Marty in the past, until Marty goes back to the past and alters it from the present. In other words, until the real-life Marty timeline gets to 1985, Marty's actions from when he left 1985 for 1955 never mattered. Does that make any sense at all?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews! You all are great.**

Tuesday, February 21, 1982

9:56 pm

Doc was working on a new project when he got the call.

It was George McFly, a man who Doc had talked to only a handful of times in the half a year he had known Marty McFly. One dinner (which had left the McFly parents somewhat more comfortable with whom their son was spending so much time) and a few other chance meetings had left Doc with the impression that George was a man who was easily intimidated, worried about everything, and didn't pay much attention to his family for fear of realizing just how much responsibility he had.

So Doc was understandably surprised when he answered the phone near ten o'clock on a frigid Tuesday night and George McFly was on the other end of the line.

"Dr Brown?" The line crackled.

"Yes? Is this Mr McFly?" Doc wound the phone cord over his shoulder and twisted back to the circuit panel he was rewiring.

"Yeah, sorry. Dr Brown, I was calling to tell you... there's been an accident." George's voice wavered at the end and Doc's heart seemed to stop. It could only be Marty. Why else would George McFly be calling him so late on a Tuesday? Why would George McFly be calling him at all, unless it was Marty?

"Great Scott... What's happened? George? Where are you?" He dropped the screwdriver and scrabbled around for a coat.

"It wasn't me, it was Lorraine, she was in the car, driving Marty home from playing with his band and they hit a patch of ice..."

"George, where are you? Is Marty okay? And Lorraine?" Doc was holding the phone like it was a lifeline with one hand, frantically putting on a pair of shoes with the other.

"Lorraine's fine, just a few bruises. Marty..." Doc could hear George take a deep breath. "Marty's still in the hospital."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes, Mr McFly." Doc could hear a faint sound of half-hearted protest from the other end of the line as he hung up the phone. There was only one hospital in Hill Valley, one place Marty could be. Doc threw on a coat and hat, rushed to the car, and started it up, squinting through the heavy snow that had just started.

Thirteen and a half minutes later, Doc skidded into the parking lot of the Hill Valley Hospital, parking the Packard and stowing the keys in his pocket as he dashed for the lights of the door.

"How may I help you?" The girl at the desk didn't seem a bit perturbed at the madman who had just run through the door, hair flying, coat askew, eyes wild.

"I'm here to see Marty McFly..." The Doctor gasped, unbuttoning the skipped button on his coat and rebuttoning it properly.

"Third floor, room 315." Doc didn't stop to tell her that the floor specification was an inherent part of the room number, just rushed towards the bank of elevators that weren't moving fast enough.

He hurried out of the elevator and down the hall, stopping to catch his breath at the third door on the left. Knocking, Doc quietly turned the handle and let himself in.

His breath caught in his throat. Marty was still asleep, looking very small and very fragile to Doc's eyes. A string of bruises leading to a butterfly bandage trailed up the left side of his face and his arm was in a cast. His face was white and still in a way Marty never, ever, _ever_ was.

"George?" Doctor Brown asked hesitantly.

The man next to the bed turned, just as hesitantly. "Dr Brown? Sorry I called you at such an awful time. I just thought you would want to know." He ducked his head slightly, as if more concerned for the potential wrath Doc would bring down upon him than for the worry Doc would have over Marty.

"What happened?" Doc asked, coming over and taking another chair by Marty's bed.

"They were coming home, just a few streets over from the house. The car slid on some bad ice and flipped off the road into the ditch. Lorraine was unconscious for a few minutes, we think, because she woke up and someone had already called paramedics." George ran his fingers over the arm of the chair, back and forth, back and forth, as if the repetitive movement would help erase the terror of unexpected disaster. "Lorraine had a concussion and some bruising; they had her in observation for a while but then they had me take her home so she could sleep there. Marty... Marty was underwater in the ditch for a while."

He must have caught the immediate panic on Doc's face because he hurried on. "Not fully. There was only a little water in his lungs, and they got it out alright, but he was... really cold. They think his arm was caught between his weight and the door at an odd angle and the stress broke it when they... went over. He must have hit his head pretty hard, because he hasn't woken up yet... they think he'll be okay, though."

Doc nodded, somewhat mechanically. He would be fine. Marty, his friend and assistant and companion, would be fine.

Doc lifted his head and took another look at George. Almost as white as Marty, shadows under his eyes and looking like he was coming down from a state of extreme panic. "George, why don't I stay here. You go home, make sure Lorraine is okay. She shouldn't be home with just the kids anyway, responsible as they may be." _Or may not be,_ he added in his head. "I'll wait here with Marty until he regains consciousness. I'll call you first thing in the morning, give you a status update."

Doc could see the hesitation, the tear between the paternal instinct to stay with the wounded cub and George's own fight-or-flight response that was telling him to get out of this terrifying situation. Eventually, the "flight" - along with Doc's reminder that his wife was at home with a concussion - won out.

"Alright. But call me, first thing. I'll tell the nurses on the way out that you're here as my replacement and don't have to leave."

Doc nodded at him and George left, with only one backwards glance at his son in the hospital bed.

The scientist took a moment to pull off his coat and hat, freeing his wild hair. He switched to the chair George had been occupying and, after a moment of hesitation, reached out and engulfed Marty's nearest hand in his own. It was cold and icy, and nothing like the lively and energetic boy he usually knew.

Doc stayed there for hours, drifting off into sleep and waking with a jolt every thirty or forty minutes to check on his friend.

BTTF BTTF BTTF

Marty's head felt like it was full of cotton, except for the stabbing point on his temple that felt like it was on fire. It was dark, something a fuzzy part of his brain said was a good thing, or his head would hurt a whole lot more.

But where was he? Marty blinked several times, slowly coming to focus on the dark shape in the chair next to him. He knew that long profile, knew it from days spent working on endless projects and homework and games of chess that Doc always won. "Doc?" Marty tried to ask, only to realize that the best he could do was croak slightly. His arm ached and he looked down to find a cast on his right arm and an IV in his left. His right hand seemed marginally warmer than the rest of this body, and his eyes traced the line of his arm to find his hand wrapped in both of Doc's.

There was a small blossom of warmth in Marty's chest. Doc was there, there to take care of him. Marty had no idea how he had gotten there, how Doc had known, or even what all was wrong. But he knew that his friend cared about him enough to sacrifice his back to an uncomfortable hospital chair so he could be there when he woke up, and that was enough for him.

The light flared slightly as a nurse peeked in the door and Marty winced at the increased light. It made him feel like someone had put a stake in his skull. But he couldn't lift up his right arm to shield his eyes because of the cast and he wasn't about to relinquish the warmth of Doc's hold on his hand. Seeing him awake, the nurse tiptoed in and checked some monitors next to his bed. "How are you feeling?" she whispered.

Marty didn't even bother to answer. The nurse noticed his hesitation and picked up a cup with a straw, giving him a few sips of water and freeing him up to talk. "My head hurts," he admitted.

"Do you want more medication? We can give you more, but we didn't want to start them until you woke up initially."

"Yeah, please." The nurse clicked a button next to the bed and Marty was soon floating in dreamless sleep again.

The next time he woke up couldn't have been more than a few hours later. Doc was gone from the chair next to him. "Doc?" Marty asked drowsily. "Doc?" His brain didn't seem to be able to ask for anything more complicated than that, so he left it. A second later, Doc himself came back into the room, a blanket around his shoulders and a cup of coffee in his hands.

"Marty?" The scientist quietly asked, settling back into his chair. "How're you feeling?"

"'m okay," Marty said fuzzily. He could almost see Doc trying not to roll his eyes at Marty's own classification of "okay." "Why 're you here, Doc?"

Something changed in Doc's face and it took Marty a moment to place it. It was... worry? It wasn't an emotion Marty was used to seeing on the usually-confident inventor's face. "Your father called to say you were in the hospital. Where else would I be, Marty?"

Marty smiled in his haze of drugs and the concussion. He was thinking it was about time to go back to sleep. But it was nice to know that someone was waiting for him to wake up. " 's good, Doc. Thanks for coming." Blearily, he shook his free hand out of the blankets and flailed for Doc's warm ones. Doc noticed the movement and helped him out a little, since Marty was no where near Doc's hands and was more likely to pull out the IV then find them.

"Thanks, Doc," Marty murmured again, and drifted back to sleep.

**Hey, sorry to make you think this was an update, just making a few little changes. I will have a new update up this weekend!**


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday, July 25, 1983

9:00 am

Marty could hear the clocks from outside the garage. In the last two years Doc's collection had continued to grow, taking up nearly half the wall and creating a tremendous amount of noise to the unsuspecting passerby.

Doc wasn't at the garage, so Marty let himself in. Doc had rigged up a new locking mechanism for the side door a few months ago, to save himself the trouble of carrying a key and to keep pesky teenagers from breaking in (like a group had tried and failed to do.) The door was now reinforced with lines of steel and had a fingerprint scanner and a retinal scan (for times when Doc had full hands).

"Einstein! Here boy!" Marty called to the dog, rubbing him down and laughing as he flipped over to allow Marty to reach his stomach. Marty obliged, his arm having healed nicely from the previous year's break. "Where's Doc, huh?"

Marty checked the chalkboard where they sometimes left notes if Marty missed Doc when coming or going. It was blank. Marty gave up finding a note as a lost cause and grabbed his ancient acoustic guitar. He put on "Stairway To Heaven" on Doc's big record player and listened to it once through before starting it again and playing the opening chords with the recording. He had just gotten to the chorus when he heard the door swing open across the room.

Marty nearly dropped the guitar in shock. Doc came into the garage, rummaged around in the cabinets for a moment and then faced Marty again, the light from the window catching the nasty cut on his forehead and the blood on his cheekbone.

"Doc! What happened?" Marty stood up and walked over, taking the small stack of bandages out of his friend's hands and pointing him toward the chair.

"The usual, Marty, I'm afraid," Doc said, sounding much more world-weary than normal. He sat in the chair and tried to take back the supplies, but only succeeded to pulling a wipe from Marty's hands. Quietly, he started cleaning off the blood on his forehead and cheek, revealing a nasty scrape that went along with the cut. "Just with better aim than they typically possess."

Marty sat in the chair next to him, deflated of his good mood. It was easy, in his own friendship with Doc, to forget just how strange and abnormal Doc seemed to the outside world, and the abuse occasionally showered on him, verbal and otherwise.

"Somedays, Marty, I wonder if I've done the right thing, being friends with a young man such as yourself. You should be dating girls, going out with friends, enjoying your high school years like a teenager does, not hanging out with a strange old man in his garage."

"What, enjoying my high school years by throwing rocks at people?" Marty shook his head. "You're stuck with me now, Doc. I know this is heavy, but I'd rather be here than be friends with the jerks in town."

Doc smiled at him, putting a small bandage over the cut, apparently deeming the scrape shallow enough to not warrant a bandage. "I appreciate it, Marty, I really do."

He stood, put away the supplies, and began to work on something at the table.

Marty drifted back to the couch and his guitar. "Why don't you tell someone? The police, or... someone?"

"It's different when you're an adult, Marty. Stopping a bully no longer means telling the teacher. You are expected to be the protector, the one who stops the bully, not the victim. The police? No. They haven't ever taken me seriously in the past, why would they start now? Besides, Marty, what are they going to do? The teenagers are precisely that: teenagers. They would receive a warning, a telling off." Doc snorted. "Certainly not enough as a preventative measure."

He smiled at Marty, but clearly meant the subject was closed.

Marty went back, restarting the opening chords once again.

**A little short, a little sad. What can I say? Read and review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Many thanks to Aria of Life (and all of you) for the fabulous reviews!**

Friday, 12 June, 1984

10:26 am

Marty was sixteen, today. And it was a good one. He had gotten up late, had breakfast, and gone over to Jenniffer's. In a rare show of goodwill, his mother had offered him the car but he had declined, since Jenniffer was leaving that afternoon on a family vacation and he wouldn't be going anywhere far enough to need to drive.

Jenniffer's birthday present was concert tickets; a new group was coming to town soon, and she knew he was always looking for chances to watch people play live. His parents gave him a new skateboard and his siblings had contributed to getting it a slick paint job. They had cake (vanilla; Marty wasn't a big fan of chocolate, unlike the rest of his family) and ice cream and his parents signed the paperwork that would let him get a learner's permit from the school.

That afternoon, Marty headed over to Doc's house, a route he could take with his eyes closed. Doc had stopped paying him and he had stopped officially "working" for Doc nearly a year and a half ago as they became better friends. During the first school year, he had worked at least three days a week, but as their friendship had grown in the last three years, it wasn't uncommon to find him there several hours a day, seven days a week.

Doc met him in the door. "Happy birthday, Marty!" He ushered Marty inside, offering him a drink and admiring the new skateboard.

"Sixteen, it's a big year." Doc laughed. "I remember my own sixteenth birthday; my parents decided I could have a more advanced chemistry set and I almost set my bedroom on fire. I ended up getting a workshop of my own that year."

Marty grinned at the idea of a young Doc frantically trying to put out a chemical fire with the contents of his bedroom. "Sounds great, Doc," he teased. "Mine's been a little lower-key so far, but I guess there's still time to light something on fire or blow something up."

Doc smiled. "There's always time to light something on fire!" The scientist waved his hands, his childlike excitement shining in his face. "But in this case, the object being lit will be candles, of the strictly traditional variety."

They ate ice cream that Doc had, somehow, managed to fit sixteen candles in. Einstein's portion was gone before Doc had even sat down with his own, and Marty ended up feeding the dog most of his off a spoon.

Doc took a good look at his young friend. Wavy brown hair, longer than when Doc had first met him, falling over the dark blue eyes that held so much humor, wit, and intelligence. It had been nearly three years - _three -_ since he had met a young boy who was more interested in him than in the rumors, and that boy was now a young man. Doc shook his head and stood to get his gift for Marty.

He came back, unsure how to present it. Did one simply hold it out and say "This is for you?" Was there a better, less awkward way to give a gift?

Doc cleared his throat and Marty turned from where he was rubbing Einstein. "I wasn't sure what to get you, Marty." Marty opened his mouth, probably to object that Doc hadn't needed to get him anything, but since Doc clearly had (based on the fact that he was hiding what he was holding behind the shelf of science journals) there was no use in arguing. Doc continued, "But then I thought of this."

He brought his hands around to show Marty... a new guitar. An electric guitar. "I know you've been saving for one, but you can use the money to get music or tapes or something." Doc waved an arm vaguely to indicate the "something" that Marty might need. "I assume that if you continue your career in the arts you might need something a little more technically suited for rock and roll."

"Doc..." Marty breathed, taking the shining red guitar. "Doc, this is great... I mean, you didn't have to... wow, Doc." They sat for a moment, looking at each other and at the guitar. Doc chuckled.

"How are you going to know if it's an instrument of quality if you don't even examine it's capabilities?" Marty laughed, strumming a chord with a pick that Doc knew he always carried in his pocket. "There's a speaker somewhere over... here." Doc dug through a pile of paper and pulled out a small auxiliary speaker. He handed Marty a cable and watched the teenager hook it up. Moments later, Marty was playing and trying to get Doc to sing to bits of various rock songs.

Nearly an hour later, Marty and Doc were sitting next to each other on the couch in amiable peace, Einstein sprawled over Doc's lap and Marty still idly strumming the strings of the new guitar, volume turned down low. "When's your birthday, Doc?"

"Hmmmm?" Doc asked. "My birthday? March... 23, I do believe." Marty sat up a little straighter and stopped strumming.

"What do you mean, '_you do believe'_? How do you not know when your birthday is?" He looked incredulous.

"Marty, my birthday is a day just like any other. I haven't celebrated it in, oh..." Doc lapsed into silence for a moment. "Thirty-six years?"

"Thirty-six years? Jesus, Doc! How do you get off not celebrating a birthday for that long?"

"Marty, my parents had me when they were much older and I was an only child," Doc reminded him. "After they died... there wasn't much of anyone left to celebrate a birthday with." He made an effort to smile at Marty, who was looking rather shocked and upset at the idea. "Besides, once you reach a certain point in your life, Marty, age becomes just another number."

"Fine. How old are you?" Marty asked bluntly.

"I am sixty-six years, two months, and nineteen days old. And about nine hours."

"And here I thought you didn't look a day over sixty-six years, two months and eighteen days," the teenager commented dryly.

And that was the end of it, as Marty resumed his playing.

Or so Doc thought.

BTTF BTTF BTTF

Two weeks later, Doc entered the garage to find a neatly wrapped package on the counter and one Marty McFly nowhere to be seen. "Marty?" he called, as he ventured further into the workshop. "Marty?" He took steps to avoid the package on the table - what if Marty hadn't been the one to put it there? Who knew what nastiness it could hold?

Marty popped up from behind the DeLorean, now completely cleared of paint. "Surprise!" Doc gasped in shock and stepped backwards.

"Great Scott, Marty!"

Marty laughed. "Sorry, Doc, but I've never actually surprised someone like that and I had to do it at least once."

"Marty, what's this all about?" Doc asked, although he had a pretty good idea, since Einstein was wearing a paper party hat that read "Happy Birthday" and happily trotting around with a purple streamer in his mouth.

"You haven't had a birthday in thirty-six years, Doc, I figured we could have it in June if we wanted to." Marty dismissed the importance of the actual date with an airy hand motion. He changed the topic more rapidly than Doc himself could (and Doc was the master). "Open your present!"

Doc crossed over to the table, Marty following and plopping down in one of the chairs. Doc considered the brightly colored object in front of him for a moment. "Doc, it doesn't have to be opened in the most precise, mathematically efficient way possible. Just open it!"

He acquiesced, tearing open the paper.

It was a book. There was no title; the square cover was a plain red leather. Set in the middle was a small clock, only about the size of a old silver dollar, glowing copper and glass and perfectly aligned with all of his other clocks. Curiosity overcoming aesthetic appreciation for the moment, Doc opened it.

He couldn't help but gasp slightly. The first page held a photograph of him and Marty. They were in the garage, Marty sitting and laughing on the steel hood of the DeLorean with a paint scraper in hand, Doc standing next to him with an expression of fond exasperation; Marty had just asked him about the purpose of the car for the hundredth time. Neither was looking at the camera. The photo was unposed and the depth of their friendship was clear.

"I got that from the one machine, that was part of the intruder system before you replaced it? We left the camera on it running for almost two weeks. There's a few shots from that, actually."

Doc turned the page. Marty and Einstein looked up at him. Marty was grinning, Einie was panting, and both were soaked from head to toe, a result of Doc and Marty deciding that Einstein had needed a bath. Doc remembered taking that photo on his shop camera.

He kept turning the pages. Younger thirteen-year-old Marty, tongue sticking out in concentration as he tightened a bolt. A photo of the two that Marty's parents must have taken when Marty had been in the accident, Marty asleep in the hospital bed, Doc asleep in the nearby chair. One of Einstein lazing on Doc's lap while he worked on a page of homework with Marty. Doc, proudly holding up a newly finished rendition of a machine that would regulate his clocks and flashing Marty a thumbs up.

Halfway through the album, Doc turned and found a blank right page. He looked at the facing page and found a picture of Marty waving at the camera while riding his skateboard, Einstein trotting behind.

There was a note tucked under the edge of the photo.

_Dear Doc,_

_Happy Birthday. I know today's not really your birthday, but you've waited thirty-six years for a birthday gift and I wasn't going to wait a day longer, now that it's ready. _

_Here you have it; three years of friendship. I know some days you worry about being friends with me; you've said it yourself, you don't want to make me a social outcast. Well, it's too late for that, and I wouldn't trade it for the world anyway. Besides, we have to fill up the rest of this book._

_Thank you for three years of friendship. Three years of support when you're the only adult that listens, three years of kindness and education and generosity and never a dull moment. _

_Thanks, Doc._

_Marty_

Marty was surprised to see a tear sliding down his friend's cheek as he read the note Marty had left under the last filled page.

He was even more surprised when Doc tentatively reached over and put an arm around Marty. Doc wasn't one for much more physical contact than a hand-on-the-shoulder at need or major medical issue. Marty turned and reciprocated, turning the half gesture into a full hug. Because they were family, and hugging was what family members did.

Marty pulled back a moment later, wiping his eyes. Doc turned to the first page again, beaming at the photo. "It's fantastic, Marty. It really is." He clapped Marty on the shoulder and stood.

"Now let's go finish filling up this book."

**Gosh, I did not intend for this to get so emotional for me, but who am I kidding? I loved the whole thing, it's my favorite so far. It turned out better than I thought it would when I started it. I also couldn't find Doc's birthday anywhere ( I did find the year, but I was already off by two years, so whatever. With all the time travel, if my biggest problem is Doc being two years younger than he's supposed to be, then so be it.)**


	6. Chapter 6

**BTW, I decided that March 23 was Doc's birthday because everything I've found says he was a spring baby and I decided the first day of spring, which historically held great power, would be a good birthday for this lovable madman. Why not?**

Saturday, March 18, 1985

8:14 am

Marty stood outside his parent's bedroom, wanting to go in but hesitant to disturb the room that he had been taught was for his parents only. He knew his father was still in there- Marty had woken up earlier than was his wont on Saturday mornings and he knew his father hadn't left his room yet. But he wasn't supposed to go in.

So he waited in the hallway.

Nearly half an hour later, the door swung open and George McFly emerged, nearly tripping over his youngest son. "Dad!" Marty popped to his feet. "I was wondering if we could get started with the practical part of my Driver's Ed today?"

George avoided eye contact. "I'm... sorry, Marty, but I have some reports to finish. Maybe next weekend."

"Dad, that's what you've been saying for the last three months. What are you doing that's so important? All I need is my practical hours and I'm golden!"

George didn't answer, just looked at his stack of Biff's paperwork and and picked up the first page. It was his non-confrontational way of telling Marty that the case was closed.

Marty huffed and walked out the door without looking back, skateboard in hand.

Doc found him sitting on the board, rolling back and forth and staring at the three cars. It was a beautiful, rain-washed spring day and the garage was open and all three cars - the DeLorean, the Packard, and the work van - were in plain view. Doc hurriedly covered the DeLorean with a layer of canvas, then turned to look at Marty, who usually wasn't so thoughtless as to leave the experiments in plain sight, and for that matter usually wasn't up at this time on a Saturday, much less moving and already at Doc's house.

"Are you feeling okay, Marty? You're up awfully early, for you at least."

Marty didn't answer. Doc waited.

"I'm fine, Doc. It's just... I've been sixteen now for almost a year. I've had the written part of my driver's test done for months. But I still can't drive a stupid car."

"Why not?" Doc gently prodded. "I feel that operating a motor vehicle should be well within your abilities."

"We'll never know, will we? Because I've never sat behind the wheel of a car before and at the rate we're going, my dad is never going to help me get in my recommended driving hours."

So that was it. "Perhaps you can find another way to learn?" Doc asked.

"I don't know, Doc. Maybe I should give it up and just wait a few years until I don't have to have my parent's permission to drive. Probably faster than trying to convince my dad to take me out. I think he's worried that I'll do something crazy and kill us both. He did the same thing with Dave. Dave never got his and now he just rides the bus everywhere."

"Don't speak badly about your parents, Marty. I'm sure that if they could, they would take you out and work on the license."

Marty laughed, a slightly bitter sound, like a stone bouncing off of ice.

"Sure, Doc. Whatever you say."

A few hours later, Marty was still brooding and Doc was almost finished working on some new wiring for the DeLorean.

"This project necessitates a trip to town; would you like to accompany me, Marty?"

Marty nodded in a sort of "yeah, whatever" way and picked himself up off the couch, flipping up his skateboard and leaning it against the wheel of the DeLorean. Doc plucked the keys to the Packard off the wall, even though he frequently took the van into town, in case he was called upon to fix something.

Marty wasn't paying much attention and didn't even notice that Doc was in the passenger seat instead of the driver's until he started to open the passenger door and Doc stopped him, holding out the car keys.

"Doc, what-"

"I thought you wanted to learn how to operate an automobile?"

"Yeah, but..."

"And you wanted to do it in a reasonable frame of time, yes?"

" Well, yeah, but..."

"And I am providing you with access to a car and a willing adult, yes?"

"Yeah, Doc, but... the Packard?"

"Why not? It's the best choice, Marty. You can drive the van sometime and see how different it feels."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely, Marty, now let's get going!" Marty reached out and tentatively took the car keys, walking around the hood and sliding behind the wheel. He took a deep breath and started the car.

"Now out of the driveway, Marty... I should have turned it around and made you back out, but another time..."

Doc kept up a constant stream of rambling instruction all the way to town and to Marty's great surprise (although he tried to hide it), everything went perfectly.

"It was good," he said in amazement, turning off the car in the parking spot.

Doc just clapped him on the shoulder with a smile.

BTTF BTTF BTTF

Saturday, March 18, 1985

9:04 pm

Doc was frowning at his desk. Marty had left hours ago, after successfully chauffeuring the pair around the town to various places Doc needed to pick up supplies.

But now there was a pile of ripped- up paper in his lab coat pocket that he would be prepared to swear hadn't been there earlier. Curious, he dumped the pile on his desk and picked up the top piece.

"_...shot by terrorists..."_

"What?" Doc murmured out loud. He sifted through the pile, phrases jumping out at him.

"_... prevent this terrible..."_

"_On the night..."_

He filtered through until he found one that said "_Dear Dr Brown._"

It was the top of a page of stationary. He fumbled around until he found a roll of tape under a blueprint and began to piece together the letter.

_Dear Dr Brown,_

_On the night that I go back in time at 1:30 am you will be shot by terrorists._

_Please take whatever precautions are necessary to prevent this terrible disaster._

_Your Friend,_

_Marty_

Doc sat back, stunned. The implications of the letter were astounding. Although he had no memory of meeting Marty in the past, Marty must have at least come to his house, since the letter appeared there. But why in pieces? Why was Marty in the past at all? And he was going to get shot by terrorists?

Suddenly feeling very overwhelmed, Doc slumped in a chair. As Marty himself would say, this was heavy. He couldn't change the events of the past, because he didn't know how, yet. He couldn't change the future, because he didn't know how those future events would play out. It would seem that even trying to change his plans to unveil the time machine could inadvertently alter the sequence of events and could cause a disaster, since in his perspective the future was still fluid and unpredictable.

It was all one big mess.

He would just have to proceed as planned. After all, this would be his biggest invention's great debut! He would still invite Marty and have him film, since that clearly was meant to happen. He would apparently get shot.

But at least he would be prepared.

**Two sort of unrelated stories, but they were short so I figured I'd make them one.**

**Also, I published a one-shot for BTTF called Road Rash (And Other Injuries)! Hop over to my page and check it out!**


	7. Chapter 7

******SO sorry, I couldn't get this to upload, there's something wrong with my account, so I had to export an existing chapter and do some foolish monkey business to sort of fix it.**

Friday, May 29, 1986

3:00 pm

Seven months. It had been seven months since Marty had met Doc in a parking lot, traveled back in time to 1955, forward to 2015, and back to 1885.

He had seen his best friend die, shot by terrorists.

He had been hit on by his mother, terrified his father into asking her out, and played Johnny B. Goode at a high school dance.

He had seen himself playing Johnny B. Goode at the same dance while attempting to steal an almanac that held the key to a future where his family's arch nemesis ruled the town and was married to his mother.

He had been chased by Indians, almost gotten hanged by a group of outlaws, was almost shot by one of the same outlaws, watched Doc fall in love, and hijacked (borrowed) a train to get back to the future.

He had seen his best friend reappear with his wife and two young sons in a time traveling train, disappear again, and reappear two days later to announce that they were moving to Hill Valley and rebuilding the Brown mansion on the same piece of land where it had originally burned down.

Now Marty was graduating.

Which was almost as scary as everything else combined.

He was almost an adult. That meant responsibility; for himself, for a family, for the future as a whole.

A camera flash nearby brought him back. For the moment, he would stop worrying about the future and just enjoy the present. He moved a few steps forward, grass under his feet and blue sky overhead as he approached the stage where he would receive his diploma.

"Martin Seamus McFly." Marty took a deep breath and walked up the stairs onto the small stage. He looked straight into Strickland's eyes as he took the diploma from him. The man smiled, possibly the first real smile Marty had ever seen on the man's face. "Congratulations, Marty."

Marty moved off the stage and went to sit with the the seniors as the rest of the class walked across the stage to get their diplomas. A man came and dragged on the ceremony by giving a long speech about the "illuminated futures of the young men and women present today." He occupied himself with the ribbon on his diploma and looking at Jenniffer out of the corner of his eyes.

Finally, it was over. Marty cheered and threw his cap in the air with the rest, catching it and running over to Jenniffer to twirl her in a circle.

"Congratulations, Marty!" The Brown family had made it over to Marty and Jenniffer before the McFly family had and Clara was giving them both a hug. Both Jules and Verne solemnly shook Marty's hand. Doc shook Marty's hand, then scooped him into a hug.

"Thanks for the help, Doc," Marty said. "With everything."

"No, Marty," Doc looked fondly at his young friend, then at his wife and sons. "Thank you."

Yeah, yeah, really short. Sorry. But not really :)


End file.
